


Desmond Is Thirsty As Fuck

by PurpleMoon3



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: A/B/O, Desmond Miles Lives, M/M, Old!Altair, Old!Ezio, Porn, Prompt Fill, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: Wherein Desmond is Thirsty as fuck and overrides the termination protocols of the Eye to snatch himself some well aged wine.





	Desmond Is Thirsty As Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt](https://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=12672622#cmt12672622): Desmond gettin absolutely wrecked by Ezio and Altair.
> 
> That's it, that's the prompt. DP, spitroast, whatever; you write, it I will read the hell out of it

Somewhere, deep in the depths of his mind in the last bastion of rational thought, Desmond knew it was all Lucy's fault. She was dead, but the cock in his mouth and the alpha pheromones filling his nose were all her fault. The dick in his ass, also, her fault. But at the moment he couldn't even scrape enough sense together to curse her name, let alone protest his treatment, because he hurt and he ached and he felt so damn wrung-out and empty that the twin slides of hot flesh inside him were all he had strength to focus on.

“That's it, habibi.” The-Alpha-Who-Could-Not-Possibly-Be-Altaïr ordered, but softly. Gently. The man was old, but he had _presence_, and if not for the gray of his beard and wrinkles in his skin Desmond would have pegged him as an alpha in his prime from pheromones alone. The alpha's hand stroked Desmond's head, cupping the back of it as he thrust into Desmond's mouth at a leisurely pace. As if they were taking a stroll through a park hand-in-hand, bonded Alpha-and-Omega, only it was cock-in-mouth and Desmond could taste every delicious inch of it. “Relax. We are here, now. We will take care of you.”

The not-quite-as-aged-but-just-as-strong hands holding his hips tightened possessively and an inarticulate whine was punched out of the omega as Ezio's look-alike's balls slapped audibly against his perineum. “Heh. Listen to the Mentore, _Desmond._”

Christ, how did the man make a name sound so seductive? Like everything he ever wanted was contained in the two simple syllables? Desmond melted, and not in the ouch-fuck-my-arm-is-on-fire way, though there was still a bit of that, but in the haze of relief that came after a long suffering itch was finally scratched.

It really was all Lucy's vault. And maybe Vidic's, too, a bit.

The thing was, Desmond was an omega born into a community that bred for alphas. And though no one can ever be really sure what their orientation will be until after puberty, Desmond had always been a bit... lackluster, as his father disappointingly called it. Desmond wasn't competitive like the other kids. He didn't luxuriate in the physical training that other alphas enjoyed and excelled in. Desmond mostly did as he was told and tried not to rock the boat, and for most of his childhood Bill thought Desmond would wind up a beta. Which while disappointing, wasn't horrible. It was mostly betas like Shaun and Rebecca that handled the logistics and paperwork side of the Brotherhood. When Desmond figured out for himself that he was an omega, he distanced himself as much as he could from the other kids and their alpha noses, and made plans to escape.

He'd only known one other omega on the whole Farm, and she was a nurse that had never left. Ever.

In hindsight, the whole thing had reminded Desmond of the Gardens of Masyaf only worse. At least the Flowers never pretended to be anything but what they were, and after Altaïr took command they had some options. Most had chosen to stay and marry, of course, as most of the world wasn't half so forward thinking as Altaïr, let alone up to the equality standards of the 21st century.

But the hard truth was Desmond was an omega, and while he could take blockers to even out his hormones and reduce the number of estrus periods he went through in his civilian life a kidnapped lab rat and Assassin's guinea pig did not have such a luxury. Altaïr had been an alpha, and the instincts and reactions that went into making the youngest master assassin of the age were completely different than those that made up Desmond. He hadn't been able to sync for shit, even if the clarity of his genetic memories were some of the best they'd ever had. So Lucy had the brilliant idea to inject Desmond with alpha hormones to act as training wheels of sorts until he got a handle on his ancestor.

She never did stop, though, and Desmond missed his period. Then they escaped and under the influence he stupidly agreed to follow along in Ezio's life, and Ezio was alpha, too. It wasn't until they were well into Connor's memories and discovered the Mohawk had been a beta that Rebecca finally took the unwelcome hormones out of his animus IV. Coincidentally, that was shortly after he _finally_ challenged his dad, too, and it had taken every sane brain cell he had left to not follow the impulse that was telling him to rip Bill's throat out. Desmond still wasn't sure if Bill had ordered that, or if Rebecca had done it on her own.

In the aftermath he felt sore and tired all the time, like his senses had been keyed up to eleven and now his body was making him pay the price. Running around gathering the power sources helped flush the foreign alpha influence from his systems, but like every fast speaking side-effects-may-include drug commercial suggested artificially changing ones orientation to block periods only made them worse, later. Using the Eye and expecting to die; that had been something of a relief. At least it would be over. At least he wouldn't have the world on his shoulders when all he wanted was a moment of sympathy and for someone to take care of him. Let someone save _him_.

And maybe that selfish little thought dancing in the back of his head was at fault, too, and not just Lucy.

Lucy was the one who fucked up his body chemistry, though, and now that his period had hit his body felt like it was still on fire and he _needed-_

The Italian's chest lay against Desmond's back, black and gray hairs sticking to the sweat. The older man shuddered through his orgasm, hips thrusting harshly to send his seed as far into Desmond as possible. He wrapped his arms fully around his prize, and one hand coaxed Desmond's prick into another orgasm of its own as the other played with the thick opalescent cum already coating the omega's stomach. “Will you give me a child, _Desmond?_ Would you like to see your belly swell? I shall be happy to bring loveliest flowers to your confinement, or anything else you desire, so long as you let me linger...”

Desmond groaned at the thought of himself flushed and round with child, and pushed back against the fingers that were keeping his dripping ass occupied while the alpha-that-talked-like-Ezio recovered. Three of them slipped inside, spreading to stretch the muscle, all while tucking the strands of cum that threatened to escape back inside. The man behind him chuckled as the one in front nudged Desmond's mouth open and the omega keened at the loss of his new favorite toy. The old alpha continued to pet Desmond's head even as he brought himself to completion, spraying seed all over Desmond's face.

“Can he take both of us, you think?”

Shuddering at the unexpected christening, and hungry in so many ways, Desmond shifted his weight to his good arm and carefully began swiping at his face, licking the possibly dead man's cum from burned fingers. Altaïr's face frowned down at him, and Desmond suddenly felt a wave of regret and exhaustion that curdled into confusion as the old alpha gracefully slid off his rock to sit on the ground. He carefully caught Desmond's hand in his and brought the slick fingers to his own mouth, sensuously kissing clean each damaged tip. “Ya habibi. What did I just tell you?”

And then the alpha's hands were following the lines of his face, thumbnail tracing the scar on his lip, feeding milky white seed into his wet and welcoming mouth, and by the spark of wonder in the man's eyes Desmond knew what he was thinking. Desmond was taller, just a bit, but he was Altaïr's time-displaced mirror. More than Sef and Darim, even, so what did that make this?

Distantly, Desmond wondered if the Eye broke him, and this was all some strangely kind method of Abstergo harvesting genetic material. He'd been terrified of being a breeding omega as a teenager; there were states were the legal marrying age was, like, fourteen with parental consent.

At the moment, though, he couldn't care about getting too pregnant to move so long as they kept touching him, talking to him, filling him back up with essence-of-alpha the _natural_ way and didn't leave. They were not his ancestors. Couldn't be his ancestors, obviously, but they looked like it and that was all heat flustered Desmond really needed. People that knew what he, what they had been through.

“Up, caro mio.” Ezio grunted as together he and Altaïr successfully maneuvered Desmond off his knees and into their laps. Plural. And then Desmond's head fell back as he shouted at the absolute glorious feeling of being doubly full. His body lulled as his mentors picked him up in tandem, Ezio's worn fingers brushing against Altaïr's, before letting him back down agonizingly slow. Desmond hiccupped, he felt faint, and everything was going blurry. Why...?

Ezio was kissing his wet, salty cheeks and the rumble of Italian whispers traveled straight down Desmond's spine. Desmond turned into the words, cheek rubbing against the smooth bush of beard as he sought out his alpha's lips.

The Assassins allowed him a moment to settle into the aching stretch of their cocks before going at it again. He tried to help, a little, but that just meant his nipples got an irritated pinch in punishment.

So Desmond relaxed and let himself be carried between them, sighing as his body greedily took every little thing they would possibly dish out.

* * *

Ezio finished wiping the omega, wiping _Desmond_, clean with some of the bandages that hadn't gone to use on the man's arm. As he did so he glanced toward a dark entryway, and noticed the other Assassin had heard it, too.

“People coming, Mentore.”

“Templars?”

“Assassins would not be so noisy. I hope. Our Brotherhood would have degraded much if so.” He frowned down at the exhausted and unconscious omega that had pulled them forward. They hadn't gotten much out of the man before he fell to his heat, but there was the hidden blade, and there was the absence of anyone else. It was wrong, for a brother to be left so alone in his time of _need_.

Strange, and yet strangely satisfying, to reach the end of his life only to feel as though the sun itself is burning away the compounded hurts of a lifetime and tearing him through time to his greatest mystery. And to find _the_ Mentore, Altaïr Ibn-la'ahad, in a similar position? Why, Ezio hadn't felt so young in years.

Together, they tucked their sleeping bonded behind some convenient rubble and took up positions on either side of the half-collapsed entryway. Ezio grinned at Altaïr, and deployed his hidden blade. The Arab tsked, but nodded in agreement.

Right then, Ezio thought as the first enemy entered the chamber and he gripped the man by the strange material of his clothing to pull him close, time to get to work. His blade found little resistance, and though they lost the element of surprise Altaïr had dispatched two others and the forth and final man had yet to untangle his weapon from the rest of his equipment before Ezio was upon him.

He didn't like the idea of anyone referring to their omega as a subject. Like one of Leonardo's corpses, soon to be dissected.

“Salve!” Ezio said, noting the reflection of his own teeth in the strange clear face plate of the man's helm. “I have questions. And you... you have answers."


End file.
